The Trail's End
by gleeme33
Summary: "She's dead…" was the last thing she ever heard. "Yes – yes, I think she's dead!" And now, she'd be a star. Bonnie and Clyde!Finchel.
1. The Story Of Bonnie And Clyde

**Bonnie and Clyde!Finchel. Rated for darkness only. Thanks and enjoy.**

"_You've read the story of Jesse James_

_Of how he lived and died._

_If you're still in need;_

_Of something to read,_

_Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde._

_Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang_

_I'm sure you all have read._

_How they rob and steal;_

_And those who squeal,_

_Are usually found dying or dead._

_There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;_

_They're not as ruthless as that._

_Their nature is raw;_

_They hate all the law,_

_The stool pigeons, spotters and rats._

_They call them cold-blooded killers_

_They say they are heartless and mean._

_But I say this with pride_

_That I once knew Clyde,_

_When he was honest and upright and clean._

_But the law fooled around;_

_Kept taking him down,_

_And locking him up in a cell._

_Till he said to me;_

_"I'll never be free,_

_So I'll meet a few of them in hell!" _…" – "The Trail's End" by: Bonnie Parker

She entered our scene unlike the way most do in such a time; her long, dark hair tumbled down her shoulders ever so un-perfectly as pieces hung off – out of place, unbrushed; just like her. She strode up to her lover – they were unwed but bonded forever – who wasn't expecting her to do so at such a late hour, the lone wolf howling in the distance at the very moon that reflected in her amber eyes. Her lover was a man of grand stature and broadness – so much so he towered over her, but did not in any way present himself as an oafish bear; quite the opposite, he was not prone to stumble but to be very nimble, quick, and fleeting when need be. His strength was used for one purpose and one purpose only in his mind – to protect her. Because as he towered, she all but withdrew; as she dreamed, he bent the bounds of reality for her.

She lay down with him now, under the moonlight and sparkling stars. Some nights, she figures she'll count them all one day – she figures she'll _be _one, one day – but more often then not falls asleep in her lover's lap before it's possible.

"How many?" She whispers the burning question.

He opens one eye and looks at her – the hazel one now open reflecting in her deep, chocolate ones.

"How many…today?"

"Today," she bays. "This week, this month, this year…it doesn't matter. How many?"

"Today? One. All together? Twelve."

"Twelve. You, your brother, the gang…killed _twelve_?"

"Yes," he echoes. "Twelve."

Silence.

"I wanted to be in movies." She looks to the stars for comfort. "You wanted this life. I wanted to be in movies."

"You will, darlin'," he looks at her; she continues to look at the stars. "I promise you – you will. One day, they'll make a movie about us. About _you_."

"When'll they find us?" Her voice breaks; this has never happened before. He sighs at the state of his lover. She is broken, and therefore he is, too.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" She shakes her head. "I don't wanna give that…that damn law-man the satisfaction…" this is when the idea shot into her head. "Baby," she moaned, and grabbed out to his pistol. "Please, baby, shoot me now. Shoot me now, I want it to be _you_ to take me outta' this world! Not that filthy sheriff! If that happens, then he's won – "

" – Darlin'," he spoke unwaveringly. "And if I do that to you now, I'll have to do it to myself right after. And if that happens, we'd 've forfeited." He pointed to himself and added: "Finn Hudson always wins, but never will he win by default. And sugar, I can't do that to you. It's just not possible. How could I take the only thing I have to live for away from me? Would you really make me do that?"

She was sniffling. He held her hand and said:

"Dyin' ain't so bad. Long as we both go together." She nodded and almost silently added:

"Only when one's left alone does it get sad." He kissed her cheek. "You gave me life, Finny Hudson. Without you…I'd 've…I'd 've gone mad. Crazy. I'd 've gone crazy 'cause I'd 've had nothin' to live for, no drive, no fire…no love. I love you." The lovers kissed a long, hard kiss.

"And I love you, Rachel Berry." They kissed again, and he held her face in his palms. "Don't you go on thinkin' we've lost, now. Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry _don't loose_. We'll go out with each other. We'll always be together." He held her hand tighter. "Don't you ever let go of me."

"Never."

"And I'll never let go of you."

And the sun came up that next morning, as the duo were driving down their pass – laying in wait came the posse of six 'law-men', as she called them. The opened fire with everything they had – they shot him first. Two bullets to the head and he was gone; dead in a second, dead without feeling a thing. Her death, though, was almost unfair. She gripped her lover's now cold, bloody hand and closed her eyes. The bullet hit her gut; all she could do was wish that it would come faster, that she didn't have to feel this pain of dead without him here…that it was night, so she could count the stars. They weren't sure if it was the loss of blood, or the agony that killed her, but still the posse lay in wait – she wasn't dead, only dying; they would wait until the deed was done. Until the angel-looking devil was dead. They heard only a single, high shriek – they aren't sure if that was on account of her own bullets or that of which took away the love of her life. She had wounds everywhere – later on, it would be recorded that she and her lover were shot more then fifty times, with twenty-five wounds each. Blood was everywhere. Everything went red…scarlet. It was all she saw. The sound of a blasting train-whistle stung in her ears as she remembered meeting him that day; her car had broken down, and he offered to fix it. The train chugged by them and they waved to the passengers – they had simple, un-bloody smiles that would never make their homes on their faces again. There was smoke from the train just as there was now; that smoke was their beginning, this smoke was their end.

"She's dead…" was the last thing she ever heard. "Yes – yes, I think she's dead!"

And now, she'd be a star.

"…_They don't think they're too smart or desperate_

_They know that the law always wins._

_They've been shot at before;_

_But they do not ignore,_

_That death is the wages of sin._

_Some day they'll go down together_

_They'll bury them side by side._

_To few it'll be grief,_

_To the law a relief_

_But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde._" – "The Trail's End" by Bonnie Parker

**Now here's the question…do I keep this a one-shot or make it a short-multi-chapter? **


	2. The Start Of Something New

**Decided to make this a short multi-chapter! Just so we're clear on who everyone is…**

**Recurring/Principle characters:**

**Finn Hudson – Clyde Barrow**

**Rachel Berry – Bonnie Parker**

**Noah Puckerman (Puck Hudson, in this story) – Marvin "Buck" Barrow**

**Quinn Fabray – Blanche Barrow (wife of Buck)**

**Will Schuster – Sheriff Ted Hinton**

**Guest Stars:**

**Sam Evans – Roy Thornton**

**Carole Hummel-Hudson – Ms. Barrow**

**Shelby Corcoran – Ms. Parker**

**Karofsky – Unnamed dominate inmate **

**And more will appear later, including Kurt, Blaine, Santana, Brittany and more. **

**Disclaimer: These were mostly real people that the Glee characters are becoming for this little fic-let, not made-up characters. There are part of the American 1930s, and moreover, part of American history. Thanks and enjoy.**

The year was 1921 – she was elven, he was twelve. They were young – children, innocents. There was never any blood on their hands – no one would ever guest that there would be. Not now, not ever. It was the roaring twenties – the age of jazz, arts and movies. She grew up in Rowena, and he grew up in Tellico; both small, dusty towns in Texas, both infamous for their ample supply of nothingness.

The twenties were good for her – all the music, all the lively singers and dancers in their twinkling immortality. Silent films were becoming monumental, and so was one particular actress: Clara Bow. And so it was only natural that a young Rachel Berry would see her face on every magazine and would watch her movies intently, as if studying, and came to one conclusion…she wanted to _be _her. That would be _her_, Rachel, one day, she decided. _She'd_ sing and dance and act and have _her _face on every magazine, and _she'd _get to be in all those pictures and have all those fancy clothes and stay in all those nice hotels…and, when her father died, it made it all the more clear that she had such a noble path to follow. She would make him proud.

The twenties weren't roaring in a _positive _way for everyone, however. The Hudson family owned a modest farm in Tellico, and when their father died, Finn and Puck Hudson's mother all but lost it altogether. Thank God for Burt, one of the farmhands, who would comfort Carole. Without him around, Finn and Puck didn't know how she'd get by. It was when he was about the age of twelve that Finny Hudson discovered his father's Lugar, hidden deep back in the top shelve of his old closet. The lonely, silver-ish colored gun was a bit rusted on the handle, but other then that it was in perfect condition; in Finn's mind, it was perfect anyway. Feeling the gun in his hands the first time was a feeling unlike any other for the boy – feeling that pure _power_…feeling the fact that he could never be ignored again…

The first thing he ever shot was a rooster that wouldn't just shut the hell up.

"What was _that_?" Little Puck asked in a scream, running out of the farmhouse. "Finny, what happened? What's going on?"

"Puck Hudson," he said, looking from the Lugar to his baby brother's eyes. "God is good. Just like they say in Sunday school. For He has given me…purpose."

And, within the next year, the boy was sentenced to two years in the county's juvenile detention facility.

Those two years as she studied the ways of Clara Bow and of actresses like her, Rachel Berry realized something about herself: she was smart. Math, science, history…all of it was a snap. She could do the work with her eyes closed! But one subject in particular wasn't just _easy_; no…it was…something _good_ in her mind. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was just something about English – writing, in particular – that wasn't just something she _had _to do…but something she _wanted _to do. So she wrote poems – and she had indeed been bitten by the bug – but that didn't mean she would just give up her acting dreams so easily, no – they became even _more _clear now, in those two years, when she realized how she could make them a reality. There was this boy, a classmate of hers, named Sam Evans. Now, he was fairly cute, with blonde hair in his eyes and, of course, those abs of his. But that didn't matter none – Sam had family in California; Sam could be her ticket to Hollywood. So she started making girl-y eyes at him and battering her eyelashes, and it only took off from there…

"Rachel Barbra Berry, I don't want to hear 'nother word 'bout it! You're too young to get married!" Her mother demanded.

"I am _fifteen_, Mama!"

"Sweetheart," she said more calmly, looking into her daughter's eyes. "I know you think this'll get you out, but getting married to a boy isn't gonna get you anywhere!"

Where Finn Christopher Hudson stood, if there was a hell, it would be Tellico's juvenile detention facility. Never, never in his life, would he come back here or to any place like it. He'd rather die.

"Awright boys!" shouted Karofsky, the dominate inmate. "Ever'body line up! _Now_!" This was almost a daily routine now – they'd line up and Karofsky would take every cent they had. When Finn had nothing to give him, he bellowed:

"What's wrong, nearly-homeless Hudson? Can't pay the fine?"

"I…I…" and so Karofsky would take him back the collar of his shirt to the back room. Finn was sixteen now, and he knew all too well what sexual harassment was…and that he was now a victim of it. _He's not gonna get away with it_… Finn thought as he was tossed to the floor. _Not this time…_ As the bigger inmate went to grab him, Finn whirled around, flinging himself to his feet. In a millisecond, he found what he needed – something to defend himself with. A loose piece of pipe hung off from the hanging raptor, and without thinking, Finn grabbed it and slammed his assaulter over the head. Karofsky fell to the ground in a sudden, bloody thump.

It was Finn Hudson's first killing.

And so when his time was up, he got out of juvie normally…and no one ever knew what happened to Karofsky. When he got out, he had just turned twenty. It was when Puck and Finn where driving down by the train tracks just for the very purpose of driving, that they happened upon a girl, maybe the age of nineteen, stopped on the side of the road.

"Pull over, Puck," Finn demanded, and his brother did. She was pretty, he noted, and who was he not to help a pretty girl with her car? "Need some help?" He asked, getting out of his own Model A.

"Oh," she said, noticing the two boys climbing out of their car. "Yes, thank you." The taller one examined it under the hood, and his brother quickly came to the conclusion:

"Your engine's shot, Miss. I'm aw'ful sorry. Why 'in't you ride with us? I'm Puck, by the way. Puck Hudson. And this ol' boy here 's m'a brother, Finn…"

Finn looked up from the engine and into her eyes, and it was possibly the best moment of his life.

**So…?**


	3. Plans

**I saw **_**Bonnie & Clyde: The Musical **_**yesterday. It was **_**amazing**_**. The 'poem' I wrote as one of Rachel's is based on Bonnie's 'first draft' in the show, but I wrote it and only based it off of that. And yes, don't worry; I'll continue this story until the finish. Remember to review. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1930 – West Texas._

The three of them stood outside in the heat, out on that simple spot by the train tracks – no one ever knew that very place would become the spot that the soon-to-be-infamous couple first laid eyes on each other. Puck was positioned with his head under the hood of Rachel's all but totaled car, with only Finn by her very side. A train hustled by on the nearby tracks, and the two smiled and waved to the passengers who were doing the same. The little train whistled as if it were happy smoke chugging out, too, and kept rolling on along the tracks; all parties involved had no idea just how significant this very event would later be.

"I'm sorry 'bout your car," Finn said. "M'a brother's doin' his best to at least fix it up 'nough to get to a mechanic..."

"Well, thank you kindly," she answered, and then to both brothers: "but that really don't matter none right now. See, if I'm late for work one more time – "

" – Don't you worry your pretty little head 'bout that," Puck laughed hardily, coming up from under the hood. "Finn here's the fastest driver this side of Missouri!"

"Is tha' so?" She asked, her eyes illuminated; the older brother blushed:

"Well…I…yes ma'am. I guess it is so."

"Then it 'd be m'a honor to be driven by the likes 'a you, uh – "

" – Finn Hudson," he supplied his name for her; she nodded.

"_Finn Hudson_," she finished, laughing. "And I thank you."

The three of them hopped in the running car, and Puck asked Rachel:

"Where to?"

"Y'all know the diner in West Dallas?" She asked.

"Sure," said Finn. "Only respectable place to get a meal still up and runnin' in the devil's back porch…" he almost spat the nickname for West Dallas out like it was venom, and started driving. "You work there?"

"Sure do," she answered. "But not forever. I'm gonna be an actress – like Clara Bow."

"Ah-huh," Finn remarked. "So you've got plans."

"'Course I do, lots 'a people got plans."

"No, no, no," said Puck. "Lots 'a people got _dreams_. Finny and I got _plans_, and it seems like you do, too."

"Plans, dreams," she mumbled. "What's the difference?"

"A dream is somethin' you _hope _will _maybe _happen," Finn started. "But a _plan _– a plan is infinite; no matter what, no matter which way you go 'bout it, it's gonna happen."

"In tha' case, _yes_," Rachel stated. "I've got _plans_."

By the time they had reached diner, Finn kept his end of the bargain – Rachel was indeed on time for work, and Finn was indeed the fastest driver this side of Missouri.

"Grab your apron, Rachel," said her boss, Mercedes, as she walked through the door. "Good thing you're actually on time today."

"I – " but Mercedes had already disappeared into the kitchen. So Rachel sighed and tied her apron, sliding behind the counter as quietly as she could. Puck took the car to go get his wife, but Finn, who had walked her in, bowed his head as quietly as Rachel took her place for work, and started to walk out the door.

"Hey," she said, in his direction; Finn whipped around. "How's about I repay ya' wit' a meal? It's on me." She beckoned him over with one waggling finger, and then when he complied, slid a menu across the countertop towards him. He sat at the bar and she slid him a beer just like she did the menu, and before he could get his order to her, Puck burst through the double saloon doors – however, he wasn't alone.

"I ain't stayin' with a criminal, Puck! I ain't doin' it! My pa said to me 'Quinnie, I wan' you t'a find a nice, good, up-right man who'll treat you right, who'll worship Jesus, who'll…' – "

" – Baby, please!" Puck, interrupted as he pleaded with the blonde who came in with him. "I love you!"

"You don't _love me_!" Her voice almost cracked – _almost_. "You and your brother are _outlaws_ – you don't love nothin' but runnin' from da' law!"

"Quinn, please, just let me explain…" Puck continued to Quinn, but Rachel didn't hear anymore.

"Is that true?" She asked Finn, her eyes ablaze. "Are you runnin' from the law? Are 'da cops lookin' for y'all?"

"No, no, sugar – listen, Quinnie over there? She overreacts to evr'thing!" Rachel and Finn both took a breath and thought more rationally in that one moment. "Look, Puck 'n me? We did our time. We got out right. The cops – sugar, they don't care none! They'd arrest me 'n Puck f'er walkin' 'da wrong way on the sidewalk!" She looked at him for one unwavering second, and:

"I…I believe you. I do." They were bonded, then. "I do."

"Mornin' Rachel," came the voice of Sheriff Schuster.

"Hiya Will, how's the job been treatin' ya' lately?"

"I guess I can't complain. Lucky t'a have it." He mused. "You got a West Dallas paper wit' m'a name on it?"

"Sure thing, Sheriff," she said, grabbing the newspaper with one hand and cunningly shooing Finn away from the man with a badge with the other. He saw her signal and all but ran away from the bar counter, heading over to his brother and sister-in-law. She handed the sheriff his paper and added:

"Coffee – black with two sugars and sunny side up eggs?"

"Like always, Rachel, you've got it down pat!" The curly-haired man laughed hardily.

"Oh yeah, well, be sure t'a 'member that when you give me a nice tip, okay?"

"Anything for you, little girl," and a nice, shinny dime dropped in the 'tips' can. That one coin was more then she would make in a week. "Your father 'd be so proud a' you."

"Why, I thank you kindly!" She smiled to the cop; gave a little curtsy. "Lemme check on those eggs f'er ya'," and she disappeared into the kitchen.

The sheriff's eyes, in her absence, roamed around the diner while Finn and Puck shrank nervously into the corner. Quinn, on the other hand, stood with her arms crossed, still fuming. Puck took her in his arms, dipped her as if they were dancing a tango, and kissed her on the lips ever so romantically. The blonde blushed, giggled, and her anger was a thing of the past.

"Hey!" Sheriff Will yelled, seeing them finally. "Up against the wall!" Quinn squirmed out of the way at his yell, leaving the two brothers alone.

"Us, sheriff?" Finn asked, honestly not sure. His faith in the law to be utterly unfair was reaffirmed with:

"Yeah, you! Up against the wall!" The brothers did so, and the sheriff padded them down.

"There a problem, sheriff?" Rachel asked, balancing two plates on her outspread palms.

"No," he responded, returning to his seat, "but I'm watchin' you boys like a hawk!" He shouted to the brothers. "One slip up – _one_, just _one_ – you're goin' straight back t'a jail!"

When Rachel got out of work the sun had all but gone down, and, counting tips, she had successfully made all of twelve cents. This was a fine day – nay, a _wonderful _day…

"Sugar?" It was Finn; he had been waiting for her. "Why 'int you come wit' me – I know a place we could go…you'd like it…"

"I reckon I will," she said with a smile. "Why don't you take me there? _Baby_."

And so he drove her to one of his favorite places – a place where they could see the sun set and with it see their future. Maybe. If she'd let him. They lied down on the hood of his car, and she nearly whispered:

"You see those stars up there?"

"Yeah…"

"Baby, I'll count them all one day. Baby…I'll _be _one, one day."

"'A course you will, sugar," he didn't say it sarcastically, he said it as if it were a sure thing – something oh so set in stone. "You got plans."

"Yeah…" she mused. "I got _plans_."

It was the first time their lips met. But they didn't stop at just one kiss, the need – the physical _need _– for each other grew in their very souls like a terminal cancer; so, so dangerous and harmful, but so, so incurable. And when their lips finally parted, her nose became stuck in her notebook, scribbling away.

"Hey," he said. "Sugar, what 'chu writin'?"

"A poem…" she said the word 'poem' so dreamily.

"Can I read it?" he asked.

"No, but I can read it to you." Then, she adjusted her voice with a loud 'a-hem', sat up, and started:

"_In street you see ol' Al Capone – _

_He comes a'ridin' down your way_

_On his ol' pinto horse_

_Yes, a' course._

_You see that he's a'ridin' alone,_

_And damn, you wish you could stay._

_Then ol' Al Capone met Finn_

_A Hudson boy, you see _…"

"Hey!" Finn interrupted. "That's me!"

"Baby," she said as nicely as she could. "Baby, don't interrupt me, please, there's a flow to these things, a rhythm, baby – ya' can't go messin' wit' _rhythm_!"

"Okay, okay!" He nearly laughed. "Read on, darlin'!" So she started again:

"_Then ol' Al Capone met Finn_

_A Hudson boy, you see._

_He said 'hey, ol' boy – _

_I see your toy – _

_Your car's got nothin' on me!'_

_And so Finn Hudson could drive away_

_Yes, faster then Capone could ride_

_But they got Al, still – _

_Shot him 'gainst his will_

_He had no chance t'a hide._

_They got ol' Al with a nasty shot,_

_The law shot him – ding, dong, dead – _

_And, well, no matter what ride Finn's got,_

_They'll still be a price on his head._"

"Don't write that!" Finn yelled. "Sugar, why 'd ya' write such a thing?"

"Well it's da' truth!" She added. "And I only write da' truth!" The two lay down on his car's hood again, and another time her eyes met the stars.

"You'll be one, one day," he hold her, holding her hand.

"Yeah," she whispered. "I got plans."


	4. Back To Jail

**Thank you for reviews, I would really appreciate them from everyone! Thanks and enjoy.**

_1930 – West Dallas, Texas_

Quinn Lucy Hudson enjoyed working at the hair salon in West Dallas – it was one of the few things that she genuinely enjoyed lately, come to think of it. She was twenty-five now, marking the fact that she had been married to her husband Puck for nearly ten years. It wasn't uncommon for girls in the West Texas area to be married so young – any way to get a chance of getting out, to get a chance of making it in the cruel Great Depression times…was secretly smiled upon. Quinn, however, was only ever seen smiling when cutting hair. There was something about Puck that she was undoubtedly attracted to, but…he and his brother were so wild, so…un-Christian. Quinn Lucy Hudson was a girl who took her faith very seriously; she was raised to believe that even in the toughest, roughest of times – namely, the Great Depression – God would pull through, suffice, and they would end up better for their experiences in the end, for everything must happen for a reason.

As she snipped off the split ends of the hair of one of the saloon girls in the nearby area – Tina, her name was – Quinn couldn't help but fear for the very safety of her husband's soul. He had already been in juvenile detention, and more recently, the county jail. That could be a very slippery slope, and Quinn couldn't help but think of what could come next. Puck hadn't been baptized, she knew, and frankly, his brother was bringing him along on a dark, dark path of no return…Quinn had to stop this. She had to make it right. Noah Hudson was her _husband_, after all – she had to help him. They took vows in front of the eyes of God nearly ten years ago – she had to protect him; protect him, that is, from his very self.

"Quinnie…" her husband started timidly, shyly walking into the salon. "Quinnie, please don't be cross. Don't be. I…I got ya' these…" he pulled roses from behind his back.

"Puck!" Her face lit up – he'd do anything to see that. "Puck! Where – where on earth did you find these? Roses! Gosh dang it – _real roses_! Oh, shoo – this is a fine day, Noah Hudson, a _fine _day! Com'eer, let's put 'em in some water…" She did just that and then realized – it's too good to be true. "Noah Hudson," she turned around. "Do you mean to tell me ya' _stole _these roses?"

"No, baby, _no_!" He responded. "I didn't steal 'em! I jus' bought 'em wit' the money I stole!" She threw the roses back into her husband's arms.

"Puck Hudson, you are goin' back t'a jail!"

"_What_? But Quinnie, I served my sentence – "

" – You served the _minimum_!" She yelled over him. "The _minimum_! And _obviously _you haven't kept your end of the 'good behavior' bargain! You _are_ goin' back to jail tomorrow after church – and you _are _serving out the rest of your sentencing. With good behavior you'll be out in six months at most with a clean slate!" She stopped a moment and then added: "In the eyes of the police…and Jesus Christ!"

"Oh, sweet Jesus…"

Just then, as Quinn's last costumer left, there was a very distinct tapping on their door:

_Knock – knock – knock – knock – knock_…_knock_…_knock – knock – knock _

"It's Finn!" Puck yelled out happily. "I guess Jesus _is _on m'a side after all!"

"And what is _that _supposed t'a mean?" Quinn demanded, hand placed firmly on her hip. A beat, then:

"Uh…nothin'…"

"It better be nothin'!" She rasped. "Oh, God keep that damned brother of yours!" The blonde continued as Finn entered, coming in behind her, Rachel in tow. "And God keep the poor trollip who ends up in his arms – "

" – And it's nice to see you, too, Quinn." She whipped around as if she'd seen a ghost at the voice of her brother-in-law.

"Oh. Finn. You're here already."

"Yup," he smiled, laughing inside at the absurdity of his brother's wife. "Here I am, Quinnie! And _this_ is Rachel Berry – and she is _not _a _trollip_! I'm sure you two 'll be callin' each other sisters by this time tomorrow!"

"Well…" Quinn gave Rachel a quick once-over, and came up rather unsatisfied. Yup – a saloon trollip. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is _all mine_."

"See that?" Puck added. "Friends aw'ready!"

"Now Puck," Finn put his hand on his brother's shoulder, while Rachel wrapped his arms around him from behind. "I think I've got plans for our next job! There's a gas station, still up 'n runnin', not that far from – "

" – _Ahem_!" Quinn interrupted. "Puck? Why don't ya' tell your brother _our _plans."

"_Your _plans?" Finn echoed with his eyebrows now furrowed. "Puck, what does she mean?"

"I…" he hesitated, then got it out. "I'm goin' back t'a jail."

"_What_?" The other Hudson brother nearly died right there.

"And you should do the same, Finn Hudson!" Quinn declared. "It'll wipe his slate clean with the cops – no more suspicion, like with the sheriff in the diner. He'd be a free man again, free to live his life honest and true – and God – "

" – _Quinn_!" Finn yelled, making her stop. "Don't you get it? He ain't never gonna be free – _we _ain't _never_ gonna be free if we let da' law win!"

"Baby," Rachel spoke up. "Maybe Quinn's got a point – as much as I'd hate t'a say it." Then, she started: "If you and Puck _both _go back t'a jail, you don't have to live like outlaws no more – we can have a good life, a safe one, and – "

" – You don't know what it's like!" He interrupted yet again. "Don't you speak when you don't know what you're talkin' about!"

"But, Finn, when I mean is – "

" – Don't you _talk back _to me, you little bitch!"

And he slapped her across the face. Hard. She fell to the floor, a red, stinging pain like no other besmirching her cheek – her very heart. Rachel took a minute to breathe again, to think again, and got back to her feet. When she did so, he hit Finn across the face at least ten times harder then he had hit her.

"And don't you _ever _raise a hand to _me_, you bastard!"

It was the first time they ever fought – but it was a good thing, too. In that heated moment, a silent code was put into place: they were equals. And that night, too, was another first – they made love for the first time; the first of what would become many. That next day, just as Quinn had said, the four of them went to church with her, and the three newcomers came out baptized. Puck, upon his wife's orders, went back to jail willingly. After about twelve days, when his end of the bargain was clearly not kept, it was the law that forced Finn back into his cell.


	5. Raise A Little Hell

**Happy New Year, all. This chapter is M rated for a reason – lots of darkness. Please review. Lyrics used in-between the chapter are to **_**Raise A Little Hell **_**from **_**Bonnie & Clyde: The Musical. **_**Thanks and enjoy.**

_1931 – West Texas Area _

"Noah 'Puck' Hudson," spoke the judge. Quinn rose to her feet. Perhaps all her prayers had paid off – it had been six months of her husband in jail. She had celebrated a new year, a Christmas, and a birthday without him. "On account of turning yourself in for full time, and accounting good behavior, you shall be released into the custody of your wife. Six more months good behavior, and you will no longer be under the probation of the law." Quinn found herself jumping up and cheering, and when her husband's handcuffs were removed, running into his arms. God had truly been good to them.

Now Finn stepped up, handcuffs binding his two wrists together behind his back. He took a deep breath, and so did Rachel, as she rose just as Quinn had. He moved something to her, and she nodded. No one is sure to this day what the two said to each other that day. It could have been as dangerous as plotting something diabolical, some believe – or it could have been as beautiful as a simple 'I love you'.

"Finn Christopher Hudson," the judge spoke for a second time. "On account of your violation of your last good behavior release, and accounting your two counts of burglary, seven counts of auto theft, and three counts of violation, you shall be sentenced to sixteen years in jail."

Both Rachel and Finn could not hear a thing. They could not hear the madness that had become of the crowd, they could not hear the police officers advancing to take Finn away, and they certainly could not hear the judge's gavel come to rest with a bang. All they could do was react. She ran to him, only to be picked up right then and there by an officer. He tried to drag her away as she cried out to her lover, but there was no answer over the raging crowd. Finn knew she was screaming for him, but all he could catch was:

"I'll wait for you forever!"

And they dragged them apart from each other.

Prison, Finn decided, was much worse then just a death sentence. At least if a criminal is put to death, they don't have to be turned into the un-human monstrous things that prison turns the unsuspecting man or woman into. He was himself any more. It had only been six months of his sixteen-year sentence…and he did not recognize the face he held.

_I can't take no more of this_

_This nightmare has to end_

_In this God-forsaken place_

_Death would be a welcome friend_

_I could play a crooked guard to kill me – _

_Yeah, yeah that's it._

_Better that then sixteen-years dying slowly _

_Bit by bit…_

"Get in there!" A guard named Sebastian yelled, tossing Finn into his cell face first. His face, although unrecognizable, was dirty with blood and sweat. He had been beaten nearly all day, and even worse, some of Karofsky's old goons had caught up to him and decided he needed to be 'taught a lesson he wouldn't forget'.

"Please," he coughed. "Keep me away from 'dem, ya' know what they're doin' t'a me!"

"Oh, c'mon now," the guard laughed wickedly. "They jus' been _welcoming _you for six months now! And hey, Hudson," called the guard after a beat. "You're little girlfriend's here!" He tugged Rachel along by her arm to Finn's cell and nearly threw her at the grimy bars.

"Rach?" Finn breathed. "Darlin', oh sugar – I am so glad t'a see your face!"

"Finn," she whispered a worried breath. "What happened to your face, baby? Your nose looks broken all together, 'n all those wounds and burses, baby, what's goin' on in there?"

"Listen t'a me," he whispered. "You hear me?" she nodded. "In the gas station, there is a gun – a small, ol' Lugar, got that? I need you to bring it to me baby, 'n I'll take car a' the rest."

"You're gonna get out 'a this shit hole?" She asked.

"Yeah baby," he murmured. "I'mma bust out. I – "

" – Vistin' time's over!" The same gross guard shouted, grabbed Rachel by the arm again.

"You get your hands off me!" She demanded, pulling away from Sebastian. "I will be by here everyday!" She snarled. "Do you hear me? _Everyday_!"

…_I won't get to heaven _

_So I'll raise a little hell…_

"Rachel? Rachel Berry?" Rachel whipped around to see Sheriff Will Schuster as she was walking out.

"Oh. Will," she said. "Hi. How're things?"

"Good, good," he answered. "Well, as good as they can get these days. Do you need help?"

"N-no," Rachel stuttered. "I…I was just visiting someone."

"Who were you visiting?"

"Finn Hudson."

"_Finn Hudson_?" He asked, his eyes wide. "How would _you _know _Finn Hudson_?"

"He's…uh, he's a friend of a friend."

"Well, I don't know who your friend is," Will started. "But you stay away from Finn Hudson, y'a hear? He's _bad news_. I'd hate to see a good girl like you get mixed up with his kind."

'His kind', Rachel thought. They were talking about her Finn like he was something else entirely. Like he wasn't even _human_.

"Yes, sir."

Since Finn and Puck's mother and father's farm went under, Burt Hummel and Carole Hudson started work at a gas company. Luckily, when the couple who owned it retired, they left it to the Hudson-Hummel's. Now they had a penny to their name instead of nothing, but that didn't matter – their sons were already scarred for life from the poverty they'd seen, the lowliness they'd grown up in.

"I can't thank you 'nough, Rachel," Carole said to her that day. "You're the only thing keepin' m'a boy goin'. Why, if there's ever anything you need, anything at all, I will be there for you."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," said Rachel. "You wanted me t'a take somethin' to him?"

"I got a bag here," said the woman, handing it to Rachel. "It's got food and clothes and shoes in there. And you tell Finny his mama loves him."

"I will, ma'am," Rachel smiled. "You don't worry none 'bout your boy. He's can handle anything!" And so Carole left, and Rachel found the gun right where Finn told her it would be.

"_Hey_!" Sebastian yowled that next day as Rachel approached the jail cell. "You step right over here, little missy! And leave the bag!" He searched the bag and found only what Finn's mother had explained was in it. "Aw'right," he spat. "Now I have to search you, too." His 'search' let him to reached his hands up Rachel's skirt and not only touch her impropriety, but get away with it, too. His hands searched up across her body and, once he grabbed her breasts, he jumped at him.

"I think you've _searched _enough!" She snapped, grabbing the back and going. Sebastian stayed back with a hardy, drool-fueled laugh.

"Finn!" Rachel called once she found where he was held. His face was even worse now. "Baby, oh, baby, it's gonna be okay…" they kissed passionately, and he reached under her bra, and pulled out the old, silver Lugar.

_So let's raise a little_

_Hell!_


	6. Alive

**The Dust Bowl occurred in the USA and some of Canada from 1930 to 1936, which is very heavily referenced here. Hope you like this chapter. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1931 – Texas/Oklahoma Area_

The waiting. This was the hardest part. Waiting – waiting – waiting. He wrote to her that day, saying he had broken out and was on the run and that as soon as it was safe he'd come back for her. And they'd be on the run together. She lies on her back, on her scarlet-color bedspread and composes a poem in her head – she's already writing about the adventures she and Finn are sure to have together. She lies there, breathing deeply – in and out, in and out – feeling achy, cold all over. Sometimes she thinks Finn Hudson was just a dream – a dilution of grandeur. He's literally all she ever wanted in neat, shinny wrapping – he's as wild and willful as her; he's daring and strong and perhaps a little dangerous. He's getting out – he's getting the hell out of here, and taking her with him – no more dust, no more death. Because that's exactly what she was before she met him – dead. Living, but dead. She was alive – she felt like she was watching her life play out and had no say in it; just a spectator in her own life story. Then Finn Hudson came along. And she fell in love with him, he with her…and there – there was fire, drive…_life_.

No dust. Just _life_.

And when Rachel Berry finally pushes herself to get off her bed and go into work, she feels that this day is so much different then every other day in West Dallas – this isn't where she is, really; she has fire in her soul. Any day now she'll be on the road with Finn Hudson.

Any day now she'll be _free_.

The day carries on as if it is any other here, but Rachel knows in her soul that its not. The usual crowd enters. The children run to the pinball machine with pennies in their pockets. Brittany Peirce and Santana Lopez come in, sit down at the counter, and order a milkshake. She knows their situation just from knowing them and brings two straws. Santana mouths her a 'thank you' and tips her a penny. Jesse St. James, Sheriff Will's new Deputy, comes in and sits down two chairs away from Santana and Brittany. Upon entering, he stood at the door and tried to spit onto the dusty, rough, brown ground outside. His mouth was so dry he couldn't do it; there's so much dust out there now that he's forced to rub his eyes and stumble in.

"You got any beer?" He asks her as he sits there.

"We've always got beer," she answers, and slides him a tall one. He twenty-something boy opens it and gulps it down quick – then he smiles at her cockily and says:

"Wish I could tip ya', miss…but I don't get ma' pay for a while now. Can I roll ya' a smoke?"

She's never smoked before but suddenly figures it's time she'd better start. Everyone smokes now-a-days – not to, at her age, is rather embarrassing, she realizes. But then again: she is a _singer_…and that stuff you inhale can't possibly be any good for the lungs…but if it was bad for you, there'd be studies and reports and articles about it, right? And no one ever said it was _bad_. Everyone only says smoking makes you tough. Maybe she oughta be a little tough. Rachel nods and he hands her the cigarette, and soon there are three more crunched in the ashtray with little red tips from her scarlet-colored lipstick.

She waits from Jesse St. James to ask her out, anticipating what she'll say. 'I'm sorry,' she thinks she'll decided on telling him, 'but I'm spoken for.' The deputy looks her up and down all day. He goes out, does whatever it is patrolling deputies do, and comes back for another drink with her. He sits; chats. She puts up with feeling like she's on display. Eventually the light leaves the sky and it's almost closing time. The children have all left the pinball machine. Only old, Dallas men clog the bar now. She counts the minutes until closing. Maybe today _was _just like any other day. _God, _she thinks. _Shouldn't he be back by now? _Now Deputy Jesse re-enters the diner and sits down; she brings him his usual, and he winks at her.

"Do you think the dust 'll ever stop?"

Rachel asks him the question as she has her left fist supporting her head, her elbow bent on the countertop. It's as if all the ravenous dust is consuming their world – by now, it's not just _dust_. It's the depression. Both The Depression, and the very depression that rests in everyone's hearts that their American Dreams are all but lost, buried alive in the dust just like they are. But not Rachel and Finn. Their souls aren't buried in dust – no, they're blazing in fire.

"I really wish I could tell ya'," says Jesse, dipping his driver's cap. "But I just don't know, miss. I just don't know."

"No one looks out the window, these days," she murmurs, lighting another smoke up. "When I was young, all I'd ever do was look out the wind'as and dream 'bout the world that's out there for me t'a explore…"

"And now…" Jesse sighs, deep and real and pain-riddled. "There's no world out there at all." Her heart almost stops. This is a man who's let both The Depression and the depression beat him into nothing. He's let the dust burry alive.

She'd die before that happens.

And it's late that night when she hears his sign:

_Knock – knock – knock – knock – knock_…_knock_…_knock – knock – knock_

She's asleep, though, so she doesn't actually _hear _him until he climbs in through her window and lies down next to her. He kisses her cheek and brushes her thick, dark hair out of her face. And he lies there for a moment, just listening to her breath, gazing at her face, watching her chest move up and down. They were alive – so, so alive now. Together. They were together again.

"Darlin'," he finally whispers, shaking her a little. "Sugar, c'mon, wake up."

Her pretty brown eyes fawn open and her whole face lights up when she sees him.

"You're safe," is the first thing she whispers to him.

"Safe and sound," he answers. "'Cause I'm with you." They kiss and they embrace. In another minute they've climbed out her window and are settled into his stolen Ford V8, driving off into the distance. "I've marked out a place in Oklahoma for us, for now," he says. "I've sent a message to Puck. Hopefully Quinn won't give 'im any flack and he'll meet us there in a few days. And then…"

She listens to him talk and it's like he's singing in an angel's voice. For she is listening to the sound of freedom. She holds his hand and they drive and drive; eventually Texas is in their rear-view mirror and it's time for their lives to start.

They are so, so alive.


	7. No Money In A Bank

**Midterms, oh how I hate them. Remember to review. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1931 – Oklahoma Area_

For his first official 'job', he told her to wait in the car. She wrinkled her nose in protest, but still their stolen Ford rolled into the next state over and they find themselves parked just close enough but just far away enough from the biggest bank in the town. And the next job after that – the same result. And with the next, the next, and the _next_. He'd pulled over thirty jobs without her, and honestly…she was feeling…very…damsel-in-distress-like. She didn't have a proper word for the feeling – she just knew she _hated _it. Already cops for almost five different states were on their trail…and she hadn't robbed a _single store_…

The duo found themselves staying in an Oklahoma town now, not much smaller then West Dallas – but it was best, they agreed, to start off small and illusive. Let the ripple effect die down before they _really _hit it big. She decided it _didn't matter_ where he took her – she follow him anywhere, but he wanted what was best for her. He promised her a new life, a better life – and that's just what he would give her, if it killed him. The bank was busy with people but he determined the 'people factor' as take it or leave it – it really didn't matter. If there were people, then that was good – more press for them means bigger jobs. If there weren't people, then that was good – less chance of somebody stupid calling the police.

"I wanna come with you," she wined when he loaded his gun that day. "Please?"

"No," he said for what felt like the billionth time. "Yesterday it was no, today it's no, and it's always gonna be no!"

"But _why_? I could help you, baby – I _could_!" She pleaded. "I could show you if ya' just let me!"

"I said _no_," he responded. "I'm not putting you in that kind of danger!"

"_Danger_?" She spat, one hand on her hip. "Finn Hudson, do you really think _I'm _the type a' gal who cares if she's in _danger _'er not? I'm here with you, ain't I?" Then she did something that was deemed remarkable in his eyes – she reached under her skirt and took out a pistil of her own.

"Do you even know how ta' _shoot_?" He asked.

"'Course I do, I grew up in West Dallas, didn't I? Do you know who you're talkin' too, boy?" She moved her finger back with a click of the metal-on-metal. "I surely hope ya' haven't forgot."

"Oh, sugar, I ain't never gonna forget." They kissed again, then: "Please, darlin', jus' wait here…"

"What did I _just _say?"

"I don't want you in that kinda – "

" – _Danger_!" She finished. "I _know_! You say it once, you say it a hundred times! Listen…you ever see that movie – that movie where Clara Bow plays a good guy who pretends she's a bad guy, but then sides with the bad guys, and then realizes they were good guys all 'long?"

"Uh…" He was at a loss for words…but goddamn it, she's _pretty_…

"We're like that!" She declared. "We're not bad guys, we're good guys playing bad guys!"

"Um…yeah!" _Look at that_, he thinks – _she's making sense again_. "That's right, sugar – we're good guys playing bad guys. But…how does that – ?"

But it's too late. She's already out of the car.

_Oh boy…_

"You put your hands up – I don't want none of you with your hands any lower then your ears!" She pointed that gun like a pro and, as he addressed the crowd, and he was so, so happy to have her at his side that day. The crowd in that bank all looked scared to death – but she swore she has never and will never see anything as lovely as he. The bank tenant is on the ground by the time he motions for her to put her gun to the back of his head.

"Now," he said to the people. "I don't wanna hear no sirens. I don't wanna hear no screamin'. Understand?" They collectively nodded. "Good. Now – my partner Rachel here's gonna get the combonation to that fancy safe of yours," he added to the tenant. "And you're not gonna give her any trouble."

He mumbled something.

"What was that?"

He mumbled again.

"I asked you a question!"

"There…ain't…no…money." The tenant finally stood up, and bent his head down as if in shame. "There ain't no money here. I'd give it to ya'll, but…there ain't no money here."

"No money…?"

"…Times are tough, see, and…"

" – _No _money…?"

"…All these folks, tha's what they's complainin' 'bout…"

" – _No money_!"

He shoots his gun off at the ceiling.

"_No money _– in a _bank_! In. A. _Bank_. No _money _in a – "

" – _Finn_!" It's the first time she's spoken while they pulled that job. "Hush, now, there's no use getting upset 'bout somethin' we can't change. C'mon now, le's jus' go…" He grabs his arm and walks him almost half-way too the door when he pushes her down to the floor, and shoots. It was his first killing on a job. It was the first time she ever saw someone so beautiful do something so beastly.

By the time the cops came, they were already out of Oklahoma.


	8. By His Very Hand

**Midterms are all over! I'm so happy! Hope you like this chapter. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1932 – Joplin, Missouri_

They settled down in a nice little flat for about five weeks – it was the longest time they'd settled down together in one place since leaving Texas. It was small, and dusty, and had some mold in the corners, but it was enough. Or more – yes, _more than enough_, she decided, because for those five weeks, it didn't feel like they were on the run at all. It didn't feel like they were wanted criminals. It didn't feel like they had blood on their hands. It felt, to her, like they were as normal a couple as Quinn and Puck – together in the long run. Together, and perfectly happy.

_West Dallas, Texas_

"What's that?" Quinn asked, stretching her neck to see the note her husband was reading. Then it hit her. "Oh – _oh_! _Please _tell me it's not another message from that delinquent brother a' yours. I swear if he ever comes back here a'gain, why, I'll just – "

" – I'm going to meet them, Quinn."

"You're…you're what?"

"I said I'm going to meet them. Finn says they're in Missouri now. Settled. Safe. And I'm going to meet them. And…baby I want you t'a come wit' me."

It took Quinn about twelve seconds to actually process this as she stood there, stunned.

"Oh…" she finally whispered. "Oh, baby…I…I – "

" – Read their note," he said, and showed it to her. The crinkled-up paper read as such:

_Puck…and yeah, Quinn too,_

_Me and Rachel are safe. We're doin' fine. Got ourselves a flat here in Joplin. 'S pretty nice. She's happy. I'm so happy she's happy. I hope you come meet us. Tell Mama her boy's doin' okay. If ya' can, tell Rachel's Mama t'at her baby's doin' fine – she's happy, actually. More 'en she ever was in West Dallas. We hope we can pull a visit home mighty soon – I been itchin' t'a see Mama, and Rachel feels just the same. Consider our offer. And burn this note the minute you read it._

_Your brother,_

_Finn_

"Quinnie," he murmured. "You gotta know, Quinnie – besides you…besides you, baby, there ain't nothin' for me here. Ain't nothing for me here in West Dallas. Ain't never was. And Quinnie…" he took her hand. "If y'a let me, Quinnie…I'll lead you straight out that door."

"Oh…Puck. Noah…" she tried not to cry. "But all I even wanted was…was on _this_ side 'a the door…"

Silence.

"You promise…you promise you'll hold my hand?" She asked, and reached for him.

"Oh, darlin'," he smiled bigger then she'd ever seen before. "I'll do more then that!"

And he picked her up, and carried his bride out of the threshold.

_Joplin, Missouri_

The first time she'd seen him shoot a man, she found herself at a loss. Dizzy, dizzy – all she felt was very dizzy. But she didn't feel angry with him. Or saddened by the loss of the life. She felt numb. She _was _numb. He took away that man's life in just the way he gave it to her – it was quick. Unexpected. Probably painless. And he left this life, just as she left her old one, by his very hand. She wasn't angry with him. Or saddened by the loss of the life. Not until about twelve days later – when it happened again. He shot a man right in front of her. He shot a _police officer _right in front of her.

"Ya' know," he said that night. "This wouldn't happen if I had more guys t'a help me."

"Oh," she responded. "More _guys _to help you. So I ain't nothin' but decoration, huh?"

"What? No, baby, I didn't mean that!"

"Oh, no, I know _exactly _wha' you meant. You shot that officer Finn. _You _shot him. You _shot _him." She got up, then, from her position of laying down with him, and started riffling through her dresser. She pulled out an old suitcase, finally, from the bottom.

"What do you think you're doin'?" He demanded.

"Givin' you 'xactly what y'a want!" She declared. "You _shot _that officer, Finn! With that bullet, you shot him and you shot me! You _killed _him! You _killed_ us!" Then, more to herself then to her lover: "Why did I ever follow this crazy dream? How could I be so _foolish_? I gotta get out now while I still can – while I'm still in the clear…"

"Don't you say that!" He yowled, running over to her as she continued to pack. "Don't you _say _that! You are _stayin' _right here!"

"I ain't stayin' with a criminal, Finn! I ain't doin' it!"

"Baby, please – I _love_ you!"

"You don't _love _me!" Her voice almost cracked – _almost_. "You don't love nothin' but runnin' from da' law!"

There was silence for about twelve seconds. They had become what they feared so much. Dead in the dust. Buried alive.

"Listen t'a me!" He finally yelled. "You listen to me…" and, in a bout of pure _rage_, he tossed her suitcase across the room altogether. Silence again, then: "We are gonna get through this, you and me…you always get through…" For the first time in her life, she wasn't sure if she believed him or not. "How's about…how's about you read me one a' 'dem poems you've been workin' on."

She wanted to argue, but she didn't. Of course she didn't. She _doesn't_. So her little red notebook opened up to her freshest page, and she read:

"_You've read the story of Jesse James_

_Of how he died and lived._

_If you're still in need;_

_Of something to read,_

_Here's the story of Rachel and Finn._

_Now Rachel and Finn are the Hudson gang_

_I'm sure you all have read._

_How they rob and steal;_

_And those who squeal,_

_Are usually found dying or dead._

_There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;_

_They're not as ruthless as that._

_Their nature is raw;_

_They hate all the law,_

_The stool pigeons, spotters and rats..._"

"Well that's…that's all I got so far."

"It's good, ya' know," he breathed. She tried to hide her smile, trying to tell herself that she was still angry with him. "It's real good. You should sent it to the papers. They'd publish it."

"You really think so?"

"Sugar," he laughed that beautiful laugh of his. "They'd publish anything t'a do wit' us."

Again, she tried to hide her smile. She was going to be _published_…

**The part of the poem her is an excerpt from Bonnie Parker's most famous poem, entitled **_**The Trail's End**_**. I changed 'Bonnie and Clyde' to Rachel and Finn, rearranged 'lived and died' in the second line, and changed 'the Barrow gang' to 'the Hudson gang'. In the next chapter you'll see Quinn and Puck with them, and many more historical references. Possibly some Kurt and Blaine? Please review. **


	9. Sometimes

**Not much to say here. Remember to review. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1932 – West Dallas, Texas_

"…_There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;_

_They're not as ruthless as that._

_Their nature is raw;_

_They hate all the law,_

_The stool pigeons, spotters and rats._

_They call them cold-blooded killers_

_They say they are heartless and mean._

_But I say this without spin_

_That I once knew Finn,_

_When he was honest and upright and clean._

_But the law fooled around;_

_Kept taking him down,_

_And locking him up in a cell._

_Till he said to me;_

_"I'll never be free,_

_So I'll meet a few of them in hell!"_..."

Deputy Jesse read the poem aloud in the police headquarters that day just as his boss, Sheriff Will Schuster, told him too. Wow. The Sheriff could not believe it. Rachel Berry. Sweet little Rachel Berry. The little girl who looked at her daddy like he was everything, the little girl who cried that cold day, dressed in black. The little girl who'd play marbles on the sidewalk with her friends, the little girl who never brought home a grade lower than an A-plus. The girl who waited on him at the diner every morning. The girl who served alcohol despite the prohibition suffrage movement. The girl who sworn she'd get the hell out of West Dallas…

Was a monster.

A gun-weilding, sharp-shooting monster.

"Sheriff?" A voice asked, and the man looked up to see two figures – the governess of their state was one, he recognized. The other, he didn't. It was she, the governess, who spoke. "I do not believe we've met. I'm Sue Sylvester, governess of Texas. And this here's Bryan Ryan, the sharpest shooter this side of Mississippi."

"It's great to meet you," he said, standing up as his deputy did the same. "But, why – ?"

" – Let me cut to the chase, Sheriff," said Mr. Ryan. "I'm plannin' on walkin' down West Dallas main street with Finn Hudson's head on stick, and you best be mighty sure that I know how to put a bullet through his neck. Gather up your best posse. It could take long – years, even – but we're gonna get 'em."

The little girl he'd known since almost the day she was born…

Could he shoot her if he had too?

Yes, he thought. She was not that little girl anymore.

She was a monster.

_Joplin, Missouri_

It was when night fell upon them when the pair got to talking about such sensitive topics. They started driving around the Joplin area just because they both felt antsy when staying put in their flat for more then a few hours, and found a place she dubbed 'beautiful'. It was riverbank – but it was more then that. The pretty waters of the river lapped at your toes when you got just close enough, but just far away enough. There were boulder-sized, flat rocks to sit on – one of which the two cuddled on right at this moment. Most importantly – in her mind, anyway – there was a panoramic, wide-open sky – you could see the stars from her, she noted. You could count the stars from here. And when night falls they remain together, and she tries desperately to look up at the stars and pray. _God_, she mentally bays. _I know I don't pray lots. Even though I'd been baptized that day. I'm sorry I don't pray lots. Please, God, don't let the law-men get us. Let us stay here, forever, together…_

"Do you ever feel scared?" She whispered, cuddled up next to him.

"Only when it's like this," he answered. "When the cops are at our necks and we're shootin', then I know it'll be awright. 'Cause we can get outta anything 'long as we're together. But when it's like this…" he trails off and looks into her deep brown eyes. "When it's peaceful, and I'm with you like this, and everything's calm and beautiful…that's when I'm scared. 'Cause then I can get t'a thinkin'. Thinkin'…'bout what _could _happen…"

"You don't have to be scared, baby," she says, holding onto his chest a little tighter. "I'm right here." They don't speak for a moment, then she adds: "For me, it's just the opposite. When it's like this…it's nice. It's like I _forget _what could happen. What _is _happening. But…when the laws come…" she stops herself, and starts again: "I know we won't be in Joplin fer'ever. But…sometimes, when it's like this, I…I get t'a thinkin', too…" she moves around so she's sitting in his lap straight on – so she can look him in the eye. "Sometimes…I wish it could be like this all 'a time. I know it ain't gonna be, but I just wish. Sometimes. An' sometimes…I think 'hell, we could get married. We could have a nice weddin'. Get ourselves a nice little house. Have some kids'…"

"You want that?" He asks.

"I…don't know. I never wanted a white picket fence 'round my life. Hell, I wanted t'a be in movies. But now…an' with you…"

"You want that, Rach?" He repeats. "You want t'a get married? Get a house? Have kids? Sometimes…sometimes I want that…"

"You…do?" She brightens a bit.

"Yeah…sometimes. I think if we decide on it, we best drive down t'a Mexico or up to Canada. The laws ain't gonna stand for _us _settlin' down 'round here. I been thinkin' we could save some a' our cash…like a fund. Ya' know…if there's a weddin' an' kids we gotta pay for." She kisses him on the cheek and says:

"I think that's a mighty fine idea, Finn Hudson. I think that's mighty fine."

_God, _he thinks, stroking her hair just before they both drift off to sleep. _I know I don't pray much, even though Quinn had me baptized that day. I don't know what you think of me. I don't know if you can even hear me. But, right now, thank you. Thank you for her. I don't care what I happens to me. Just keep her safe. Please. Just keep her safe. Thank you – thank you for her._

They wake up that morning and suddenly realize what is right in front of them: the night before, they fell asleep on stone in a riverbank. They look at each other, silent for a moment, and laugh. She gets up and kicks off her pretty, scarlet-colored shoes and lets the grass ran through her toes and stroke her bare feet as the sunlight grins upon them. She hikes up the bottom of her scarlet dress-slip and wades in the cool water for a moment in solace before:

"Rachel Berry, what in the hell – ? "

" – Oh," she stops him. "You be quiet now! C'mere, the water feels good."

"You're gonna get your skirt all wet, and then you'll be cold 'til we get back – "

He stopped talking when she splashed him.

_West Dallas, Texas_

Puck told his mama just what Finn's note said – they were safe, and they'd try to visit soon. One minute he was giving his mother some hope of her lost son returning. The next, he was taking away her other.

"I'm sorry t'a leave you, Mama," he told her. "But me 'n Quinnie? We'll be awright. I love you."

And so they set out to start driving. Puck and Finn grew up with not only their step-father Burt, but their timid and idolizing step-brother, Kurt. Puck was saying his goodbyes when the boy said:

"I wanna come wit' you!"

"You…_what_?"

"Yeah! Why should you an' Quinn have all the fun? I wanna get out just as much as you! Me and Blaine could hit the road – don't Finny need more men with him?"

"Well…" and how could Puck say no to a kid promising him some help. "Okay. But I don't wanna here no blabberin' 'bout it!"

So the kid gathered his boyfriend, Blaine, and the five of them – Puck, Quinn, Kurt, Blaine, and the couple's dog, Snowball, hit the road towards Joplin.

_Joplin, Missouri _

They were in the bathtub together when the motley crew arrived. At first, she was scared. Thought it was laws. He told her to grab her pistil. But then, they heard the signal.

_Knock – knock – knock – knock – knock_…_knock_…_knock – knock – knock_

And so they looked at each other, and smiled.

"I know you like it, just the two of us," he said as they dressed. "But this'll be for the better, I promise you."

"I never said it wouldn't be," she replied. And when she was dressed in that new dress she stole for herself, he whistled and said:

"Shoo, sugar, you do look good in red."

"It's my favorite color. And this ain't just _red_. It's _scarlet red_. By some fancy designer."

"A job well pulled," he smiled, and kissed her on the cheek. "Now let's go welcome the company."


	10. Son

**Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1933 – Joplin, Missouri _

About a year ago, they were at the same place as they were now. Joplin. No, by no means did they stay there; they only just ended up back there again. Once Quinn and Puck, Kurt and Blaine arrived in Joplin the first time, they all hit the road shortly after – before the laws could realize that they were no longer looking for only a man and a woman, but four men and two women. Never did they sell the flat in Joplin, though, because they – well, Rachel and Finn – figured that it would be good to keep a place with a bookmark for them – like an army's home base. So they drove around the south and southwest, and occasionally visited their families in West Dallas. Their hometown was like a safe haven for they now; a place where they were regarded as what they really felt they were – heroes; Robin Hoods. And so after that initial burst of feelings, they pulled bigger and bigger jobs. They got much more publicity. They found that, with more publicity came two things – even _bigger _jobs, and even _more _lawmen on their tails. About a year after the arrival of the rest of the Hudson Gang, the duo realized that they still had their nice little flat – and, since it _had _been almost a year, why shouldn't they return to the place they had stayed at the longest – where the Hudson Gang truly formed? So on their way back to Joplin – just their luck – Finn's stolen Ford rumbled and jerked on the rocky, unpatched road. It was dark out, and the Gang sat as such: Finn driving, Puck up in front with him, and with Kurt, Blaine, Quinn and Rachel together in the back.

"Baby?" Rachel lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

"I dunno," he answered, and pulled over. He and his brother got out of the car and discovered just what _was _wrong – flat tire.

"Shit," Puck cussed. "Do we have a spare?" Under the hood, they did, and the brothers scrambled to change it.

"Need some help?" Both brothers whipped around to see a young, little Irish boy in coveralls, a patched-up, hole-filled jacket and an old driver's cap coming up to them.

"Who're you?" It was Rachel who asked, getting out of the car.

"Get back in back in the car, Rach," Finn ordered, but she shook her head.

"M'a name's Rory," said the small boy. "And I know who you are! You're Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson – the Hudson Gang, ain't you?"

"That we are," answered Finn, and then looked back at Rachel again. "Darlin', get back in the car. You're fallin' asleep on your feet. And it's cold out, you'll freeze t'a death!" Rachel shot him a look and straightened her tam-hat before looking to the little Irish hitchhiker.

"What do y'a want with us?"

"Oh, I…I just – I'm your biggest fan…"

Rachel's heart leapt. They had a _biggest fan_? They had a _biggest fan_! A huge smile spread across her face – it was just like as if she _were_ in the movies after all. It was just like as if she _were_ Clara Bow.

"Can I have your autograph?"

"Why," Rachel murmured, walking closer to the baby-faced boy. "_Of_ _course_ you may!"

"_Rachel_!" Finn snapped. "How can you just walk up to a strange boy like that? What if he's packin'?"

"He ain't!" Rachel declared, although she didn't know for sure. "You ain't…" she faced Rory. "Ain't you?"

"I ain't," he answered. "No, miss, I ain't packin'. Not right now, a' least. I got a pen if y'a need one, but I ain't got no paper…"

"That's okay," Rachel said soothingly. She disappeared back into the car for a minute and came back with a small slip of paper. "To Rory," she nearly sang as she signed. "All the best – love: your friends, Rachel and Finn."

"Wait, 'Rachel and Finn'?" Finn asked. "Why not 'Finn and Rachel'?"

"Because, baby," she murmured. "There's a flow to these things – a _rhythm_! You can't go 'round messin' with _rhythm_! And what rhymes with 'Finn and Rachel'? Lots a' things rhyme wit' 'Rachel n' Finn'!" Her lover stood there for a moment, thinking, in silence.

"Um…uh…um…"

"Exactly!" She handed Rory the paper. "There ya' go."

"I…I…" he stammered. "It's just…I ain't got no parents, no place t'a live. No money, no food. I had to sell m'a gun f'er cash, n' I spent it on food, but…"

"N' lemme guess," Puck bayed. "You wanna come wit' us."

"Please!" Rory implored. "Please – you put a gun in my hand n' I'll show ya'll! I can shoot! I…I ain't got nothin' else t'a live f'er…"

"Oh, baby…" Rachel had never called anyone 'baby' but Finn – but she didn't mean it in the same way towards Rory; he was, in a matter of minutes, the baby boy she never got to have. She exchanged a glance with Finn and knew – he felt exactly the same way. Rory was their baby now. She hugged him in a motherly way, and later Finn put a guiding hand on his shoulder.

"You come wit' us now, son," He said to his boy. "Now you got a place t'a live. Now you got food, and money, too. Now, boy, you got parents."

After the tire was changed and they were on the road again, Rachel slept in the back with Quinn, Puck, Kurt and Blaine. Rory rode up front with Finn and all the way there he showed him how to drive the V8 in the fastest way. How to take shortcuts to make get-away-s faster. How to turn left just fast enough, so the car would go right.

The next day, once they were back in Joplin, he kissed his lover on the cheek and said:

"Sugar, I'm takin' Rory 'n the boys on a bank job. Quick in-and-out. You stay here wit' Quinn, okay?"

Rachel knew he was lying, though – if the job were really a quick in-and-out, then he'd want her a long. She knew this was a _big _one – she knew it was going to be an all-or-nothing.

"You be careful, ya' hear?" She hugged him tight. "And watch after our boy." They left with a click of the door-hinge, and Rachel and Quinn were alone with the dog. It was silent until Rachel started crying.

"Aw, sweetie…" Quinn and Rachel's relationship had grown over the past year from turning their noses up at each other, to genuine heartfelt love. Rachel was like the girl Quinn never got to raise – like the troubled case she could – maybe – change for the better. She bent over to the girl and smoothed her silky, dark hair. "Why you cryin', sweetie?"

"It's…it's…" but she couldn't get it all out.

"Oh, honey," the blonde whispered. "You know they're gonna kill him if they catch him."

She nodded.

"And you, too."

She nodded again.


	11. Rattattat

**Again, you'll see that I changed the words to some of the lines in Bonnie Parker's poem, **_**The Trail's End**_**, so that it'll correspond with Rachel and Finn. The poem is not mine, although I'd made changes to a few lines. I hope you like this chapter and review. Thanks and enjoy.**

_1933 – Joplin, Missouri_

The five boys came driving back to the flat at 135 Joplin Street after their bank haste. The high of event still left them all reeling – especially Rory, being his first ever job. After they escaped, they hit the secret places that sold liquor and whiskey and other forms of now outlawed alcohol, and bought fancy foods and sweet stuff, with _still _so much money to go around. It happened like this, he recalled:

"Awright!" It was Blaine who went in first. "Everyone put your hands up – nobody better have their hands lower 'den their ears!" The boy with the coyly curled brown hair made the citizens tremble as Kurt, Finn, Puck and Rory snuck in another way, coming from the back. Kurt put his gun up to the head of the tenant while Blaine kept the crowd at bay. Rory, Finn, and Puck loaded cash into their bags from the now-open safe. The alarm wasn't even blaring until twelve minutes after they left, each boy with two bags filled with money in each hand. Finn knew this job was an all-or-nothing. Thankfully, it ended up just being an _all_.

The five of them were about to burst through the door, sprawling in their success, but then Finn realized that Rachel would probably shoot them while Quinn hid in the corner, screaming; both of them would only assume it was the laws. They all waited a moment for Finn, and he banged on the door.

_Knock – knock – knock – knock – knock_…_knock_…_knock – knock – knock_

"Oh thank God," Rachel breathed, letting go of the trigger on her signature pistil. She ran up to Finn and he spun her around in a massive hug, and kissed her passionately. "Oh thank God!"

"Sugar, we ain't never hit bigger then this!" Finn declared, gesturing to the loot. "Just _look _at all we got! Oh, and you gotta try this!" He reached into one of the bags and pulled out some new, sugary treat then none of them had ever even _heard of_, not to mention could _ever _afford before this.

"What is it?" She asked before reading the label. "_Tw-ink-ie_. What's _Twinkie_?"

"I don't really know," he answered. "But it tastes like cake – and it's got cream da' middle! Try it!" And he broke off a piece of the sponge cake for himself, and gave her the rest. It was the best thing Rachel ever tasted, she decided – well, accept for Finn's lips on her.

"You still against this life a' crime, Quinnie?" Puck asked his wife, showing off all the great things they'd bought with their stolen loot – a camera, fine food, alcohol, candies, new guns and bullets, new clothes and pain-pills, too…

"I ain't happy wit' the criminal way none," Quinn answered. "But I am happy with _you_, Noah Hudson."

The static-y radio was turned up way too loud. Whisky was drunken. Pictures were taken. There was laughter – far too loud. Food was eaten. Kisses were given and so were playful slaps. More pictures. More whisky. Even more pictures. Even more kisses…

To Finn, in that one second, everything stopped, and then, he made it so everything did – with just three words.

"It's the cops."

It all happened so very fast, then. There was one cop. Then seven. Then twelve. They all shot at once. All at them. Finn acted even faster. Kurt, Blaine, and Puck started firing back in their places while he and Rachel tired to get an easier target on their assaulters. Rory looked around as if he didn't know what do to at all, and Rachel told him to stay with Puck, who was currently firing away while tiring to calm a paralyzed-in-fear Quinn. Glass broke. The _were_, the _buzz_, the literal _shot_ sound of the guns clung together in a giant sound that's almost indescribable. It no longer sounded like _bang, bang, bang_, but another sound entirely. Like a whistle – a train's whistle. Or like a _hum _of a pretty, sweet song. Like a child's rhyme or a mother's voice. Like a couple's first meeting. Like a poem. Like the story of Rachel and Finn.

…_The road was so dimly lighted_

_There were no highway signs to guide._

_But they made up their minds;_

_If all roads were blind,_

_They wouldn't give up till they died._

_The road gets dimmer and dimmer_

_Sometimes you can hardly see._

_But it's fight man to man_

_And do all you can,_

_For they know they can never be free._

_From heart-break some people have suffered_

_From weariness some people can't win._

_But take it all in all;_

_Our troubles are small,_

_Till we get like Rachel and Finn_

_If a policeman is killed in Dallas,_

_And they have no clue or foot in;_

_If they can't find a fiend,_

_They just wipe their slate clean_

_And hang it on Rachel and Finn._

_There's two crimes committed in America_

_Not accredited to the Hudson mob._

_They had no hand;_

_In the kidnap demand,_

_Nor the Kansas City Depot job._

_A newsboy once said to his buddy;_

_"I wish Rachel and Finn would get jumped._

_In these awfull hard times;_

_We'd make a few dimes,_

_If five or six cops would get bumped"._

_The police haven't got the report yet,_

_But Finn called me up today._

_He said, "Don't start any fights;_

_We aren't working nights,_

_We're joining the NRA."_

_From Irving to West Dallas viaduct_

_is known as the Great Divide._

_Where the women are kin;_

_and the men are men,_

_and they won't "stool" on Rachel and Finn._

_If they try to act like citizens,_

_And rent them a nice little flat._

_About the third night;_

_They're invited to fight,_

_By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat…_

Rachel let out the highest screech Finn had ever heard. He whipped around. It was turned upside-down now; everything was in slow motion. Rachel, his girl, his darlin', his only equal, his perfect – _perfect_ baby…was shot. He barreled on top of her to shield her from the rain of killing around them. He tried to hold her up when there was a low in the fall of rain to she where the bullet was but she could hardly move.

"Rachel, baby, listen to me – where does it hurt?"

"M-my leg's _burning_…"

"Can you walk?"

"_No_!"

He picked her up with one hand, and shot their way out with the other.

"We can't leave them!" Rachel screeched. "We can't leave them alone – go back, Finn, go back!" She was kicked and screaming like a child – they didn't know if it was the agony of leaving her family, or the loss of blood, but everything went blurring.

"Rachel, if we don't get you to safety now you'll bleed to death!" Finn yelled. "Is that what you want?"

She cried, and cried, and cried.

Eventually they found refuge with a farmer and his wife. They tended to Rachel and gave them fresh, non-blood-splattered clothes. The twosome stayed in their barn for the night, so both of them could heal – physically, mentally, emotionally. They heard this report on the radio when they awoke:

…_In Joplin, Missouri, some local police have shot down the Hudson Gang, of the notorious Rachel and Finn. West Dallas police have been notified and will take abrasive action. Kurt Hummel and Quinn Hudson, the wife of Noah "Puck" Hudson, have been taken into the custody of the police. Blaine Anderson, Rory Flanagan, and Noah "Puck" Hudson have been shot to death. The three men died of blood loss, gun shots, and in the case of the younger Hudson boy, wounds to the head. The infamous Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson are nowhere to be found. No longer are they wanted dead or alive – the couple are only wanted dead. The West Dallas police force are on the case, says the head Sheriff, William Schuster. A posse of six officers, including Schuster and his deputy themselves, have been on the trail of the evil-doers and are now "hell-bent" on their deaths. They are currently preparing for a deathly shoot-out_.


	12. The End

**This is the last chapter for this story. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks and enjoy.**

_May 21, 1934 – West Dallas, Texas_

"_Billy rode on a pinto horse_

_Billy the Kid, I mean – _

_And he met Finn Hudson riding_

_In a little gray machine._

_Billy drew his bridle rein_

_And Finn, he stopped his car_

_And the dead man talked to the living man_

_Under the morning's star_

_Billy said to the Hudson boy:_

"_Is this the way you ride – _

_In a car that does it's ninety per,_

_Machine guns at each side?_

_I only had my pinto horse_

_And my six-gun tried and true!_

_I could shoot, but they got me,_

_And someday, they will get you!_

_For the men who live like you and me,_

_Are playing a loosing game;_

_And the way we shoot, or the way we ride,_

_Is all about the same._

_And the like of us may never hope_

_For death to set us free._

_For the living are always after you,_

_And the dead are after me!"_

_Then out of the East arose the sound_

_Of hoof-beats with the dawn,_

_And Billy pulled his rein and said:_

"_I must be moving on!". _

_And out of the West came the glare of a light – _

_And the drone of a motor's song._

_And Hudson set his foot on the gas,_

_And shouted back, "So long!"._

_So into the East, Finn Hudson rode,_

_And Billy, into the West_

_The living man who can know no peace;_

_And the dead who can know no rest._"

"'Dat's a nice poem, sugar," he whispered as they drove. "Awful nice. What's it called?"

"I decided to call it '_Outlaws – Billy the Kid and Finn Hudson_'," she responded. "You really like it?"

"'Course I do," he said. "It's the truth. And I know you only write the truth." The dusty-brown landscape zoomed by their car windows.

"Baby?" She asked. "Where're we goin', baby?"

"I wish I knew."

The dust grew thicker and thicker each and every day. And so, they drove. Sometimes they hardly spoke; the radio blared. But never did a note of music bonce from the little radio-speakers into their ears, only the news reports drawled on in these wordless rides.

'_We're on the case_,' said the Sheriff's voice. '_Everyday we're plotting their trail. The trail will come to an end, sooner or later. Our posse has the best B.A.R riffles the West Texas Armory supplies_…'

That was it. It hit them. The West Texas Armory…

"_Now _do you know where we're goin', baby?"

"Yeah, sugar," A smile spread across his face. "If it's a shoot-out they want, it's a shoot-out they'll get."

"So…we're goin' home?" She asked as her eyes lit up a bit.

"That's right," he nodded. "We're goin' home."

And they drove but a little farther. And then, they stopped.

West Dallas never looked so _fine_, Rachel decided. The people of their hometown – though they were only silently weeping horses running along an always-fenced track – had never looked so heavenly. Their dust-faces looked like the friendly smiles of innocent children – they did not know the evil of which she and her lover discovered in such a horridly scarlet red world. Her family, her friends, the acquaintances she tired to place names to…they didn't look dead in the dust at all. They looked…satisfied. Satisfied with the lives they were living: prisoners in their own bodies; unable always to escape the limitations they were born into – a life behind steely-cold bars made of dust, and fibered with the scarlet blood of the crying prisoners themselves. No life. Just dust. Rachel could not fathom it. They were all so…content – _happy_, even – with staying put in their cages: everyone, she figured, was a lion. And it was that lion's choice to break out of their cage and roar, or to remain a hopeless pussycat forever. It did not occur to Rachel before now that the hopeless pussycats do not get shot at. Only the roaring lions get freedom…but then, she thought, they just get dead. She used to think it was a more painful, slow type of death stayed locked away and dusty…but was it worth it? Rachel couldn't help but wonder. Was it worth it to die for freedom? Would you rather stay caged and live, or roam free and die? Would you rather die with a whimper of a ripple, or a bang of scarlet red?

…_The road was so dimly lighted_

_There were no highway signs to guide._

_But they made up their minds;_

_If all roads were blind,_

_They wouldn't give up till they died._

_The road gets dimmer and dimmer_

_Sometimes you can hardly see._

_But it's fight man to man_

_And do all you can,_

_For they know they can never be free_.._._

But her questions did not matter. She had already made her choice.

Rachel and Finn stepped out of the old V8 and she let out a breath when her foot touched down first on West Dallas soil. She did not know that she was holding in a breath at all. She tried desperately to remind herself that they were here only for Browning Automatic Riffles. _B._, she told herself, _are the whole reason we're here. Visits are optional. B., B., B._… But still, it wasn't long before Finn went off to visit his mother, whom he had already heard was a mess – not speaking, not eating, since the death of one son, and the soon-to-be death of the other. So, Rachel appeared, lingering like a ghost in the doorframe of her mother's house – here, she felt like a ghost already.

"Hey, Mama," was all she had to say. Her mother whirled around and looked like she had seen exactly what she was looking at – a ghost. The ghost of her baby girl. Her mother stood there, in total shock and delight, paralyzed for about twelve seconds before Rachel herself went over and wrapped her arms around the woman.

"I…Finn 'n I 'll be leavin' soon, an'...I…" she stopped; took a breath. "I…came t'a say ga'bye." Her mother didn't respond, only hugged her daughter harder. "I – I'm sorry I couldn't visit more often…an' I don't want you t'a think badly 'a me, Mama. Or of Finn. What the papers print 'bout us – that all 's we do is shot 'n kill – it ain't true, Mama. All's we do is shoot when we _have to _shoot. All's we do is try t'a live."

"Rachel Berry," her mother finally said, tear crawling down her face. She held her daughter by the shoulders. "You answer me honestly now – did you kill a man?"

"No," she answered. "I ain't never. I ain't never killed a man."

"You bein' honest wit' me?"

"I am."

She wasn't.

"Listen t'a me," said her mother. "You're gonna turn yourself in. In Texas they'll only give you a prison sentence – "

" – They'd give me the electric chair! – "

" – I _just said _they'll only give you a prison sentence! You tell 'em you ain't never killed a man. You tell 'em he forced you t'a come wit' him – you tell 'em how t'a kill that _monster _who did_ this _to you!"

"_Mama_!" She yelled. "How can you talk that way? I…I _love _Finn, Mama, I love him like I ain't never loved anyone – 'n I ain't gonna turn myself in. I ain't gonna give up. _We _ain't gonna give up!"

"Rachel, _please _listen t'a me!" Her mother rasped. "_Please_! I can't live knowin' they could shoot you down any second – wouldn't you rather be alive in prison then shot dead? Please, honey – he forced you t'a do this. You ain't never killed a man…"

"No. You. Listen. To. Me. I wasn't never forced t'a do anything. I have killed a man. If they catch me, they will give me the electric chair. They will give _us _the electric chair. But they ain't never gonna get the chance. One day we'll go down together, and they'll burry us side by side…" Rachel let out another breath, knowing all too well now that they were numbered. "When I die," she said. "Don't let them take my body to a funeral parlor. Quinn once told me 'dat at funeral parlors they take out all your insides and stuff you with sawdust. I ain't never want my insides taken out, or t'a stuffed with _dust _of all things. Let them burry me next to Finn. I wanna always be next t'a him. Don't let 'em think we were cold-blooded killers, that we were heartless 'n mean…we ain't, you know that." She hugged her mother for the last time. "I love you, Mama. Don't let them forget me. Don't let them forget what me 'n Finn stand for. Don't let them forget me."

And so the duo drove again, the road bumping underneath them, three boxes of twelve B. in the back. There was only one more set of goodbyes to give now.

_May 23, 1934 – Joplin, Missouri_

The Joplin cemetery was cold and gray. Rachel and Finn were both so, so relieved: there was no trace of dust. No trace of scarlet red. Finn kneeled down before one grave first and whimpered:

"Goodbye, Puck. I'm sorry you never saw the end 'a this. You'll always be my brother. I love you, boy – I ain't never told you that. Goodbye."

And so, twelve goodbyes were said that day. Goodbye to the dog, goodbye to the brother, goodbye to the mother, goodbye to the farm-boy, goodbye to the partner, goodbye to son. Twelve scarlet red teardrops were shed that day.

"So…" Rachel finally sighed, once they drove down to their the place beneath the stars: the riverbank in Joplin, where the night sky was an open canvas for her imagination, for his only road map. "Tomorrow, huh?"

"Yeah," Finn breathed. "Tomorrow."

And he held her hand even tighter.

"I won't regret it," she said. "I ain't never will."

"Me either, sugar," he responded. "It was worth it."

"I won't ever let go of you."

"Never."

_May 24, 1934 – Joplin, Missouri _

And so the posse stopped shooting at 9:03 a.m. Deputy Jesse opened the car door to find her body intertwined with his. Blood was everywhere. It was all red – scarlet, everywhere. Jesse let out a sigh. The Sheriff was across the riverbank on his knees, begging Rachel's father for forgiveness.

And so it turns out, they were not buried side by side. She was buried in Rowena; he was buried in Tellico. Her grave was inscribed with the words: _As the flowers are all made sweeter by the sunshine and the dew, so this old world is made brighter by the lives of folks like you_. His simply said: _Gone but not forgotten. _Over 20,000 people turned up for their funerals. Their guns sold for millions of dollars at an auction. Quinn Hudson was released from prison after serving six years of her original ten-year sentence; Kurt Hummel died in 'the joint' – some say he just 'simply snapped'. Some still believe that it was wrong for the police to shoot down Rachel and Finn – that they should be tried for their murders. No charges, however, have ever been filed.

_1944 – West Dallas, Texas_

Quinn Hudson keeps to herself now for all the rest of her days. It had been ten years since the deaths of Rachel and Finn, and eleven since her husband was killed and she had been widowed. Her nearly lifeless eyes watch the world from a window in her old, dusty house. The dust is only inside her now – no longer does it hold down the outside world – but Quinn is too afraid, too paralyzed to go see for herself. She's seen the _Rachel & Finn _movie they made. They're nothing like that movie. She tells herself that the good people of the world with remember them as they were, not as they've been painted, and that they have found the happiness they were always looking for with God. Every night, Quinn sits by the fireplace and reads the same old papers over and over. Ten years ago, they were heroes. Now their gone, forever. She tells herself their happy now, together. She tells herself that they, Puck, Kurt, Blaine, Rory, and even their faithful dog are together now; dancing in the stars that Rachel could never finish counting. This is the day Quinn Hudson picks up a pencil and starts penning their biography. As writes, she read the same poem in her head, over and over and over. If Quinn could help it, this world would remember them as they were, not as they've been painted. If Quinn could help it, they wouldn't die a second time.

"You've read the story of Jesse James

of how he lived and died.

If you're still in need;

of something to read,

here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang

I'm sure you all have read.

how they rob and steal;

and those who squeal,

are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;

they're not as ruthless as that.

their nature is raw;

they hate all the law,

the stool pigeons, spotters and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers

they say they are heartless and mean.

But I say this with pride

that I once knew Clyde,

when he was honest and upright and clean.

But the law fooled around;

kept taking him down,

and locking him up in a cell.

Till he said to me;

"I'll never be free,

so I'll meet a few of them in hell"

The road was so dimly lighted

there were no highway signs to guide.

But they made up their minds;

if all roads were blind,

they wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer

sometimes you can hardly see.

But it's fight man to man

and do all you can,

for they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered

from weariness some people have died.

But take it all in all;

our troubles are small,

till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas

and they have no clue or guide.

If they can't find a fiend,

they just wipe their slate clean

and hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America

not accredited to the Barrow mob.

They had no hand;

in the kidnap demand,

nor the Kansas City Depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy;

"I wish old Clyde would get jumped.

In these awfull hard times;

we'd make a few dimes,

if five or six cops would get bumped"

The police haven't got the report yet

but Clyde called me up today.

He said,"Don't start any fights;

we aren't working nights,

we're joining the NRA."

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct

is known as the Great Divide.

Where the women are kin;

and the men are men,

and they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens

and rent them a nice little flat.

About the third night;

they're invited to fight,

by a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too smart or desperate

they know that the law always wins.

They've been shot at before;

but they do not ignore,

that death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together

they'll bury them side by side.

To few it'll be grief,

to the law a relief

but it's death for Bonnie and Clyde."


End file.
